


Silverware

by artificiallifecreator



Category: Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Deadpool References, Gen, Pokemon References, Rated for swearing, yes Tim does skateboard around WE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 09:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19270861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificiallifecreator/pseuds/artificiallifecreator
Summary: There’s a spoon on Tim’s desk.





	Silverware

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't inspired by a question but was inspired by the Ides of March! Twas quite a bit of fun to write ^u^
> 
> This is also available in "[Ask a Silly Question"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17268251/chapters/40609388)! I figured it was long enough to be its own thing, so its own thing it shall be!

There’s a spoon on Tim’s desk.

A fancy spoon: intricate scrollwork stem—

Tim hefts it.

—and made of silver.

Tim ... checks the area for ninja (none besides the usual bored quartet that make up his unsolicited entourage; Tim makes a note to remember to introduce them to D&D and maybe write a campaign for them. Ra’s isn’t the only person who can convert people :DDDD ), so he opens a drawer in his desk and drops the spoon in.

As he and Tam run the day’s gauntlet of meetings, Tim discovers a matching fork tucked under the clip of a clipboard, its fellow knife in a pencil holder (blade down), and their cousins: a fish fork in the cutlery drawer when he heats himself up a bowl of instant ramen in the microwave, a dessert spoon with his pudding cup, and a grapefruit knife in the medicine cabinet in the private en-suite washroom of his office.

When he returns to his desk, there’s a fondue fork on his laptop. 

“Hey, Tam?” he calls.

Nothing.

Tim frowns, shuffles closer in his chair, and pokes the landline.

“”Tamara Fox,”” answers Tam.

“Hey, Tam, it’s Tim.”

“”Hey, Tim, what’s up?””

“D’you know what’s going on with this—er, the fancy cutlery that’s showing up everywhere?”

“”What cutlery?””

“The fancy—I’ll just come show you.”

“”Good plan, Mr Drake Wayne.”” Then, after a pause, “”Probably should’ve done that in the first place.””

“Yea, probably.”

“”Door’s open; See you soon!””

Tim hums, hangs up, gathers up the silverware—frowns, drops the silverware to his desk, dumps out his pencil holder in a top drawer, then pours the silverware into the cup, kicks his skateboard out from under his desk, and pushes off towards Tam’s office.

“Shiny!” She greets.

“Yea.” Tim deposits the cup on her desk. “You know what's going on?”

She plucks out the spoon. “I don’t. Wish I did—“ Waves the spoon. “This stuff is sure pretty.”

Tim acknowledges, absently picks up the cup and heads for the door.

"Before you go, could you do me a favor?"

"Yea, sure, what's up?"

"For the LeClare meeting—one of the files I asked for didn't make it up—"

"I seem to recall we have an army of interns at our disposal that would rival the League of Assassins' ninja."

Tam's smile flattens into something dryer. "You'd think."

"Already sent an intern?"

"Yeeep. Getting the impression they may have gotten lost."

"Or, consider: they ran away to become a ninja."

"Please don't even joke about that."

Tim grins, then, "Would you like me to set out on a epic quest to find your intern?"

"I'd settle for the file _if_ you don't have to go halfway around the world for it."

"I only do that when I have a gut feeling and some shaky evidence that the subject of my quest is lost in time."

"They've certainly lost time."

Tim makes a show of thinking, then, "I'd say my odds are fifty fifty of needing a flight to Germany."

Tam makes a show of considering. "Not bad odds."

"Not bad at all."

"Well then!" Tam sits straight, spins herself around, grabs a—" _Fuck."_

"More cutlery?"

"I'm out of sticky notes, _shit._ "

"This is why you replace your pad of sticky notes after wallpapering your boss's bathroom." Tim pushes off. "I'll go grab you some." He glides down the hall—

There's a caviar spoon on Mr Fox's desk.

Tim pops his board, pads in, and stuffs it in his pocket, whispering, "What the fuck."

"Tim," greets Lucius Fox.

Tim whips around—"Mr Fox! How are you?"

"I'm fine, Tim, thank you for asking." He steps around Tim to his desk. "How are you?"

"Not bad! Just grabbing some sticky notes for Tam and I sent my board in the wrong direction." Cringes. "Sorry if I scuffed your desk."

Lucius isn't bothered and says, "As long as that board's just for skating and not 'of directors'," says Mr Fox.

Tim snickers.

"Good luck with the LeClare meeting, not that you need much of it, I hear."

"Thank you, Mr Fox."

Lucius nods, and Tim sees himself out, and pushes off down the hall to the supply cupboard.

Upon arrival, he pops off his board, lets himself in, aaaaand ....

There's. A lot.

He picks a filing cabinet and opens a drawer—

Highlighters.

—closes it and tries another drawer—

A fish knife among the magic markers.

Tim stares at it.

The fish knife, lacking eyes, doesn't stare back.

It doesn't even _try._

Tim frowns, grabs it and stuffs it in his pocket, and pointedly leaves the supply closet—

Tam's sticky notes.

—makes an abrupt about-face, consults the whiteboard map on the far wall, goes to the correct filing cabinet and opens the correct drawer, selects a pack with seven! colors, and then, pleased with himself, drops his board, and sets off back to Tam's office at a good clip. 

She cheers when he returns.

Tim bows, tosses over the pack. "I found more cutlery, too."

Tam tears open the cellophane. "Seriously?"

"Yea." Tim takes his latest acquisitions from his pocket and offers one: "A caviar fork on your dad's desk—"

"Fancy!"

He drops it in the pencil-turned-cutlery cup and holds up the other: "—and a fish knife in the supply closet with the magic markers."

"Did he say anything about it?"

"Tam," Tim says pityingly. "Magic markers _aren't_ actually magic." Then, "I don't think he saw the fork; I just told him I shot my board into his office by accident." Fiddles with a paperweight on Tam's desk. "He wishes us luck for later."

"N'awwwww." Tam scribbles on a red sticky note and hands it to him with a flourish. "Name and address for our missing file!"

"Thank you, Ms Fox."

"And thank _you_ , Mr Drake. I’ll collect it and you in fifteen for the LeClare meeting?”

He sketches a wave, grabs the cup and pushes off towards the elevator, then to Filing—

A ninja, formerly dozing in a stack, scrambles to attention.

Tim waves them away, "As you were, Lilay." puts the cup on a shelf, and goes a hunting for this file—

There's a cream cheese spreader beside a box.

(Just some random box.)

"What the fuck." Tim turns to the ninja. "Were you having a bagel?” 

The ninja's 'wtf' speaks volumes. 

“Then what the fuck is a cream cheese spreader doing in here?" 

The ninja ... shrugs? 

Tim picks it up. 

The cream cheese spreader doesn't offer any clues. 

The ninja .... 

Tim shrugs, drops it in his pocket, and resumes his search. 

The ninja hops off the shelf and takes the other side of the filing room. 

"Hey, Lilay?" calls Tim. 

The ninja pokes their head into the aisle. 

"You wouldn't happen to have seen the intern Tam sent, have you?" 

The ninja shakes their head.

Tim also shakes his head, but for different, long suffering reasons. "Interns." 

The ninja shrugs, indicates the stack. 

"Yea, thanks." 

The ninja disappears back into the stacks—reappears triumphant with the file.

"You are the very best, Lilay, like no one ever was," says Tim, accepting it.

The ninja preens.

"Thank you very much, and enjoy a most deserved nap."

The ninja preens!!!

Tim makes to leave and grabs his board—"Oh, Lilay?"

The ninja attends.

"If ever you’re in a position where the only thing left is a cream cheese spreader, _use it_ , otherwise you may end up with a temporal paradox." 

The ninja ... offers a thumbs up. 

Tim nods approvingly, pushes—snaps the cream cheese spreader at the ninja. 

The ninja .... 

“To catch them is your real test?” Tim shrugs helplessly. "To train you is my cause!” 

The ninja throws it back. 

Tim grins as he grabs it from the air; he adds it the cup as he collects it, and pushes out of Filing and towards the elevator, and then to his office. 

There’s a dessert fork on his laptop.

“What the fuck,” he whispers. Tim puts down the file and the cup of cutlery, then runs a hand through his hair while survey the office—

There’s something in his pocket.

He investigates.

There’s a lobster pick in his pocket.

“What the hell???”

Something jabs him in the back—

He whirls with a nerve strike—

Cass is already out of range with a spork while Steph _howls_ with laughter and Tam snickers from the doorframe.

“What the hell!”

Cass approaches and presses the spork into his hand. “Thirteen.”

Steph cackles. “Happy ides of March, Ex Boyfriend.”

“The ides of March have _nothing_ to do with thirteen pieces of silver!”

Tam concedes but, “I might not be here in April.”

Cass adds, “But backstabbing.”

Tim rounds on the other two. “Which of you taught her puns.”

Cass griiiiiins, and gathers him in a hug.

“I am not happy!” Tim protests.

Cass hushes him and strokes his hair.

“I am not!”

“But we are,” says Steph.

Tim pouts—“How did you get by the ninja?”

Tam explains, “I just asked if they wanted to help play a really stupid prank on you. They’re so bored they jumped are the chance for something to do!”

“I am no longer speaking to any of you.”

Cass hums and kisses his forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo I didn't want to hide 30 silver utensils around WE so it's thirteen, instead! I also didn't remember until I was almost done that the Ides of March and '30 pieces of silver' were two separate events, oops!
> 
> (and happy birthday to me!)
> 
> Meta: written March15 during the evening sprints (and 20 points to whomever can guess what I was watching at the time!), polished and posted to AO3 on April20. 
> 
> Research: cutlery -> Wikipedia -> List of eating utensils -> Spoons, Forks  
> seven coloured, tricolour but with seven


End file.
